


Stage Door extended scene

by orphan_account



Category: Stage Door (1937)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the 1937 film Stage Door starring Katharine Hepburn & Ginger Rogers.<br/>An extended scene from the film with the characters Jean & Terry to give<br/>it a more femslashy twist</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stage Door extended scene

STAGE DOOR

………..

Jean smiled as she opened the wardrobe door and began, without hesitation, to rifle through the outfits and fancy furs hung neatly inside. All her own things, bought mostly second hand or given as gifts, had been moved into the chest of drawers to make room for Terry Randall’s fashionable clothes. Terry had done it herself, sneakily, one night when Jean had been out with some of the other girls. It was too far, really, but she hadn’t had a chance to move them back yet.

Jean pulled out a smart black hat and perched it on her head. She pouted into the mirror and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh hello,” she said to her reflection, mocking Terry’s affected way of talking, “Don’t I look just dahling in this hat?”

The truth was that the hat looked kind of out of place on her brightened blonde hair. It suited Terry much better. Terry had the kind of dark, slender, haughty beauty needed to carry off such a modern piece.

Jean put the hat away with a sigh. She was stepping out with Anthony Powell that night and Linda was pea green with jealousy. She had been following Jean around all afternoon, offering barbs disguised as advice.  
A white ermine coat caught Jean’s eye and she took it off the hanger, wrapping it around her shoulders and stroking the smooth fur longingly. She adjusted her posture to mimic Terry’s and then waltzed across the room, imagining the floor was a catwalk.

“Excuse me,” a female voice drawled.  
Jean looked guiltily at her roommate. Terry strolled by her and sat on her bed to take off her shoes. She didn’t seem to have noticed whose coat it was.

“You’re not really running around with that man Powell, are you?” Terry asked, her eyes bright with disapproval.

“Why not?” Jean asked in a deliberately careless tone.

“Why play with fire just to spite Linda?”

“I can take care of myself.” Jean bristled.

Terry began to take off her stockings; she was turning in early. “I think you need a governess.”

Jean whirled around, irritated. “Why shouldn’t I go out with him? I think he’s very charming.”

Terry looked up through her lashes, a funny smile on her face. “So are snakes,” she warned.

Jean had had that thought about Terry: a very charming snake. They were quiet for a moment.

“Powell’s car is waiting outside!” Judith called from downstairs.

“That jacket looks similar to one of my own.” Terry had noticed after all.

“Don’t think I wanted to borrow it,” Jean said quickly, scrabbling to remove the expensive fur, “I just wanted to see how I’d feel in it.”

Terry contemplated her. “Do you feel different?” she asked.

“I’ll say!” Jean did feel different. She felt classy, which was something she knew she wasn’t and had never really aspired to be. It wasn’t even a quality she particularly admired about Terry, at least never out loud.

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“Do you mean it?”

Terry nodded.

“You’re funny. In some ways you’re not such a bad egg.” It was the closest thing to a compliment that Jean had given her since they had met.

Terry laughed, tilting her head back. Her glossy hair shone red in the lamplight. “As eggs go I probably have my points,” she reclined on the bed, a coy sort of expression on her face.

When she lay like that, and when she did things like storming Powell’s office on account of Kay, she was quite beautiful. But she always ruined it.

“Gee, thanks,” Jean moved to stand beside the bed and looked down at the strange new girl. Terry tugged on the sleeve of the fur coat and Jean sat down on the mattress beside her. “Did you get it from your ‘grandfather’?” she inquired before she could stop herself, catching Terry’s hand which had been gently sorting Jean’s collar.

“Sure,” Terry replied in a disappointed tone. “Can you stop talking about my grandfather?”

Judith called again from downstairs. The car was still waiting. Jean cast a fleeting glance at the half open bedroom door and then looked back down at Terry, who suddenly looked so striking and vulnerable, lying down with her hair spread out across the crumpled pillow.

Terry loosened her hand from Jean’s grip and traced a soft pattern across her palm. Jean felt her mouth suddenly go dry and she licked her lips, tasting the red lipstick she had previously applied. Terry smiled. She looked like a cat.

“JEAN!” Judith called again, sounding amused.

Jean snatched her hand away, stood up and hurried out of the room. Terry sighed and turned to lie on her side, staring out of the window.

~~~~~

Later that night, when Jean returned to her room in the Footlights Club, Terry was still awake.

Jean stumbled into the room and banged the door shut behind her, her eyes blinking blearily at the girl watching her with a bemused expression. Everything appeared to be a little off balance, like the world had tilted off its axis. She was rather confused as to how she had gotten home and why Powell seemed to have returned her so quickly.

“You seem to be rather high,” Terry remarked, listening to the blonde’s half-mumbled singing. “You must have had a pretty good time.”

Jean was too drunk to pick up the slight note of jealousy. “I’ll say!” she gushed, beaming at her roommate. “It was wonderful. The view was wonderful, the supper was wonderful. I won fifty thousand dollars and Harcourt is wonderful!” She swayed as she spoke, almost tipping over onto the other girl’s bed.

Terry threw off her covers and got up to take charge of the situation and help Jean out of her ermine coat. “Who is Harcourt?” she asked.

“What’s his name?” Jean stared into Terry’s eyes They were large and blue and she could see herself reflected in them. She swayed closer, trying to remember what Terry had asked her. She could smell the other girl’s soap. It was nice.

Jean wondered if she smelt as nice to Terry. She took a big sniff in her own direction and caught the not so nice scents of cigar smoke and alcohol, the evening’s activities still lingering about her.

She became aware that she was mumbling some nonsense about someone named Galatea when Terry’s humouring answers pervaded the fog of her mind.  
“The view is wonderful,” she couldn’t stop talking, “and Harcourt is wonderful, and you,” she smiled at Terry, “you’re wonderful.”

Terry rolled her eyes, “Yes I’m wonderful too, now come on and let me help you take off your things.”

Grabbing Jean firmly around the shoulders she dropped her onto the bed, accidentally falling with her. When Jean didn’t resist she began to unbuckle and remove her shoes.  
“I feel terrible,” Jean groaned.

“But isn’t it wonderful?” Terry was nearly laughing. Jean liked the sound of it, it sounded genuine.

“You’re wonderful,” she repeated, taking hold of Terry’s hands. Suddenly, even though she felt dizzier than ever, she didn’t feel so very drunk any more. She felt hot all of a sudden and, apart from Terry’s eyes and cheekbones and half-smiling mouth, the rest of the room had faded into a dull blur. Terry’s hands were cool in hers, anchoring her in the hot, confusing, storm.

She had pulled Terry closer before she could stop herself and placed Terry’s left hand, palm flat, across her still clothed breast. Despite the fabric of her dress, the touch was cooling her. Terry seemed at a loss for words. So was Jean.

“You, er, you’re not yourself.” Terry was fumbling, slowly being swept away by the same wave of heat that had taken hold of Jean.

Jean licked her lips, “Of course I’m myself,” she mumbled, “I’m the inebriated version of myself. Who else would I be?”

“I meant…”

Terry hadn’t moved her hand. Jean placed her own over it and Terry curled her fingers, cupping Jean’s breast and feeling the pounding of her heart. Jean bit back a moan.  
A charming snake, she thought, looking at Terry’s hesitant face, please don’t be a charming snake.

Then, before she could become any more sober, she tangled her other hand in Terry’s bed-mussed hair and dragged the other girl down into a kiss. It was an alien feeling at first; another girl’s lips pressed dryly against hers, but then Terry opened her mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to Jean’s bottom lip and their kiss deepened with an intensity neither had expected.

Jean was very aware of her own harsh breathing and the fact that she was arching up under Terry’s touch. She pulled the other girl more firmly onto the bed and shivered as she felt Terry’s breasts press against hers.

It wasn’t like kissing a man. Terry wasn’t taking charge. Their passions were equal. Just as in their arguments they each gave as good as the other.

Jean had no idea what to do with a girl, really, beyond kissing. One of Terry’s hands brushed across her waist and against her hipbone and she felt a rush of heat down below. Gasping, she reached for the collar of Terry’s fussy, high-necked nightgown. She had nearly entirely unbuttoned it when the darker haired girl pulled away.

Jean gripped the soft fabric tight, stopping her from leaving. She itched to touch the pale, soap-scented skin beneath, but Terry was looking at her in horror, her face flushed.

“You aren’t really like this,” Terry said finally, her voice devoid of its usual sharp tone.

It took Jean a few moments to realise what she meant. “Are you?” she asked.

Terry shook her head but her eyes had gone blank and Jean couldn’t read them. She wanted to tell her that she was and kiss her again, but the truth was that she wasn’t. She normally disliked Terry but now she didn’t know what she felt or what she was doing. She let go of Terry’s nightgown.

The other girl stood immediately and turned her back on Jean while she quickly re-did her buttons. Then, without another word, she turned out the lights and got into her own bed. Jean lay awake for a long time, rather shell-shocked.

Not to long after that, Jean walked in on Terry sprawled elegantly across Powell’s couch and she realised that Terry was a very charming snake after all.


End file.
